What Dreams May Come
by Shinoda Senshi
Summary: Mike doesn't have trouble falling asleep. It's the dreams, the constant, repetitive dreams, that are slowly driving him out of his mind. *Contains M/M slash*
1. Chapter 1

**What Dreams May Come**

"Man, you look like shit."

Mike didn't even bother pausing to give Kofi Kingston the withering glare he deserved. Instead he focused on the foam of second latte of the day, willing himself to remain upright. In his deprived state, Mike barely had the presence of mind to blow on his drink before sipping. A burnt tongue would do little to improve his mood.

"You try going three nights with only five hours of sleep and tell me how sparkly you feel."

The face that had greeted Mike in the mirror that morning had freaked him out more than the thought of Big Show doing amateur porn. Sickly complexion, bags under his eyes that made Mike look a decade older, and half a week's worth of stubble on his chin. Mike didn't have the energy to shave and, quite frankly, didn't trust himself with a razor.

He wondered how many days a human could go without sleep before they went insane. Mike felt awfully close to the brink. Which was why he had asked Kofi to meet up in the first place.

Despite their previous feud, Mike knew Kofi to be trustworthy and a man of his word. The man would surely keep Mike's secret to himself.

"What's the matter, Magic Mike?" Kofi seated himself opposite his sometimes opponent. They occupied a small table in the corner of the coffee shop. "Got a couple of sex addict neighbors keeping you up? I hear those noise canceling headphones work wonders."

Rather than being irritated by the ear-to-ear grin on Kofi's face, Mike didn't have the energy to care. Before the curse of his nightly affliction, he would've had a witty retort on the tip of his tongue. Now, he barely mustered a grunt and a grimace.

These truly were desperate times.

"If only things were that simple." Mike crumpled a napkin, flattened it out, then crumpled it up again. He repeated the process two more times before he even realized what he'd been doing. Shaking his head, he shoved the useless wad of paper aside. "Dude, I think I'm losing my marbles."

While it pained Mike to admit it, his problem was not going away. Quite the opposite. As time wore on, it only got worse. What at one point had only been a single nightly occurrence soon became multiple incidents from the moment his head hit the pillow to the second he dragged himself out of the bed in the morning. Again and again, very much against Mike's will.

At first, he chalked it up to lack of companionship. His mind reminding him that all work and no play made The Miz a dull boy. So Mike found himself a pretty face with a banging body and went about working out his frustrations. When that didn't work, he found himself another one night stand.

Three bedmates later, Mike's subconscious was still on the offensive. As soon as he drifted off into the loving arms of unconsciousness, it happened. Without fail and without Mike's approval.

Wrapping his hands around the warm cup, drawing strength from its heat, Mike made his confession. "I've… been having these… _dreams_ lately."

Kofi ate his muffin like an alien from another planet. Tore off the top, set it aside, and took a bite out of the base. "I warned you about watching _Adventure Time_ before bed. You know how that dog thing freaks you out."

"It defies the laws of physics!" snapped Mike, clearly at the end of his tether. "It spits in the eye of reality!"

"So did the Powerpuff Girls, yet you had no problem with them fighting crime and trying to save the world."

Mike was in hell. He saw no other explanation. He had died, possibly in his sleep, and this was his eternal damnation. Coffee with Kofi Kingston and sex dreams about Randy Orton. Had he truly lived such a horrible existence that he was now subjected to this? Did God truly hate him that much?

"Can we just have one conversation not about mutants? Let's focus on my problem."

Done with the base, Kofi started on the muffin top. "Man, even in a leap year we wouldn't be able to cover all of your problems. You're a multi-layered mess. A seven layer dip of fucked up. And if you didn't look so pitiful, I'd tell you how I really feel."

So this was Kofi being kind? It felt like being reamed by a cactus.

"I need your help, so are you going to be supportive or are you going to be a douche?"

Finished with his snack, Kofi folded his hands on the table and smiled. "Please, allow me to be the wind beneath your wings. The Obi-wan to your Luke Skywalker. The Ferb to your Phineas."

With help like this, Mike was fucked for sure.

He soldiered on. No turning back. "Like I said, I've been having these dreams lately. Every night for about two weeks now. Since a couple of nights ago, though, they've gotten more frequent… And more vivid."

Despite solidly staring Kofi in the eye, Mike couldn't fight the flush spreading across his cheeks. The higher Kofi raised his eyebrows, the redder Mike grew.

"Oh…" For the first time since entering the coffee shop, Kofi stopped smiling. "Okay… So… What you're saying is… You've been having dreams…"

"Yes."

"Of an adult nature…"

"Yes."

"That are, I am to assume, unwanted."

Mike let out a long breath. "Very much, oh my god, you have no idea…"

Kofi took a moment to process the information. "Why the hell are you telling me this? No offense, Mike, but you and I aren't even Facebook friends. It wasn't too long ago that you wouldn't have thought twice about busting my kneecaps with a sledgehammer. Maybe we should go back to that because your idea of bonding is starting to creep me out. Not healthy, man."

"I guess you would know a thing or two about mental instability, seeing as you spent months hanging out with R-Truth." Mike scrubbed his hands across his face. "Don't let this go to your head, but I really need someone to talk to and you're the first person that came to mind. Just hear me out, okay?"

Fingers drumming against the table, Kofi glared at Mike. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Probably." If the shoe were on the other foot, Mike would have laughed in the other man's face, wished him good luck, and walked away. Showed how much he deserved this nocturnal torment.

Sighing in resignation, Kofi threw up his hands. "Damn it! In that case, I'm gonna need some coffee and a scone." Rising, he pointed a finger at Mike. "Does your perverted situation require a scone? Tell the truth."

Mike nodded sadly. "Better get two."

Two mocha lattes, one French roast coffee, two scones, and a slice of lemon loaf later, Mike laid it all on the table. He held nothing back, even at the destruction of his ego.

Leaning back in his chair, Kofi folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not sure which part I have a harder time wrapping my head around. Randy seducing you or Randy being romantic. Either way, I'm never looking at Orton the same way again."

He wasn't the only one scarred for life. Kofi only had secondhand knowledge of the dreams. Mike actually lived through them. Had them play out in his head night after night. To keep from sending Kofi running out of the coffee shop, Mike had spared him some of the more explicit details.

Like the imagined size of Randy's dick, which even during daylight hours sprang to mind.

Or that, upon waking, he had a physical reaction to the dream. Depending on its intensity, Mike either woke up hard or having come all over himself. At one point he had found himself stroking his own dick and once he'd started… Well, he had to go all the way.

Mike absolutely, positively refused to acknowledge of possibly moaning Randy's name while innocently jerking off in the shower that very morning.

"Now you know what I'm dealing with. I can't even remember when I last had a peaceful night's rest." Mike went back to his napkin crumpling. "I'm not going nuts, man. I just… I don't know how much more I can handle."

Sleep aids were a no-go. Mostly because Mike didn't have a problem falling asleep. If not for the caffeine thrumming through his veins, he would have dropped off right at the table. As a consequence of being tired right down to his bones, he was getting sloppy. A real danger in their line of work. He couldn't afford being so unfocused. The sooner he got Randy Orton out of his head, the better.

All Mike needed was a magic feather to keep all the dreams at bay.

"This might sound like a really dumb question," said Kofi, "but I'm gonna ask it anyway. Mike, do you like Randy?"

"You mean as a human being?"

"I mean, like you're Rapunzel and he's Flynn Rider and the two of you are gonna go off on an adventure together."

"Flynn's real name is Eugene."

"I don't care if he called himself Butternut Squash and wore a coconut bra. Are you secretly harboring adult-type feelings for a man who, at one point in his career, greatly enjoyed kicking people in the head?" Kofi threw one of the balled up napkins at Mike's head. "I only ask out of concern for your safety."

Despite the numerous and adventurous position he had envisioned himself and Randy in over the last few nights, Mike had not actually considered an actual relationship with his dream lover. Mainly because he spent an unhealthy portion of his time convincing himself that he didn't find Randy attractive. Even when his mind and body proclaimed otherwise.

Kofi pointed out, "Maybe your subconscious is trying to give you the satisfaction that you're not getting from reality. Could be that your dreams are telling you what you want when you're too scared to admit it?"

"You calling me chicken?"

"Man, who the hell wouldn't be scared to proposition Randy Orton?" Kofi pulled the remainder of the napkins out of Mike's reach. "Listen, if you were having recurring dreams of King Kong chasing you around the Empire State Building with you dressed as a banana, I'd tell you to seek professional help. This sex dream business sounds pretty damn straight forward. You can either keep suffering or you can grow a pair and get yourself some Viper booty."

Was it truly possible that Mike harbored repressed emotions for Randy? Granted, the version of Orton that starred in his fantasies – he had to admit to himself that was exactly what they were – held only physical resemblances to the real, live Randy. Dream Randy was the perfect lover. Passionate and giving. He had a tenderness that the everyday Orton lacked. He saw to Mike's needs, sometimes multiple times in one night. Despite the turmoil the dreams created once Mike woke up, he was more than willing to welcome the Apex Predator into his dream bed.

"I wonder what Randy kisses like."

"Don't say that kind of stuff out loud." Kofi rubbed his stomach. "I'm having a hard time keeping my scones down as it is."

The two tossed out their trash, including Mike's pile of crumpled napkins, and headed out of the coffee shop.

"You'll be with me, right?" Mike grabbed onto the sleeve of Kofi's jacket. Not in a desperate, clingy sort of way. The Miz was definitely not the desperate or clingy type. "When I talk to Orton?"

Kofi snatched his sleeve away. "What am I, your spirit animal? You can do this on your own."

"But this is your idea," said Mike. "Like it or not, you're involved."

Mike preyed on Kofi's weakness, the fact that he was a standup guy. A fault easily exploited.

"Fine." Kofi sulked as they continued down the sidewalk. "But don't start thinking I'm some kind of RKO shield. That man has put some folks in the hospital for lesser offenses than asking him out on a date."


	2. Chapter 2

**What Dreams May Come**

Mike found Randy in the locker room. He'd waited until after the matches to make his move because… Well, because… It wasn't like he was scared or anything. Mike had other things on his mind, as did Randy. No point getting sidetracked right before show time.

The coward Kofi was nowhere to be found. Probably for the best. This wasn't junior high. Mike didn't need moral support for this sort of thing.

He needed a full suit of armor and a good luck potion.

Time to bite the bullet. Better to get it over with quickly. If Orton was feeling kind, he wouldn't drive Mike's head into one of the metal lockers.

"Randy, there's something I need to ask you. Now, I don't want you to say or do anything until I'm finished. Do you understand?"

Pinning Mike to the spot with an emotionless stare, Randy slowly sat down on the wooden bench. "Alright." The man barely blinked. "Go ahead."

Mike's mind went blank. No, that wasn't exactly true. Quite a number of things ran through his head as the seconds ticked by. The leanness of Randy's body. The tweak of muscle when Randy flexed his thigh. The firm set of Randy's jaw. The fullness of Randy's lips.

Oh, yes. Mike had a lot of interesting thoughts. Not that he was dumb enough to express them out loud.

Just get it out, then run like hell.

"I was thinking maybe you and I could go out sometime. Coffee, maybe."

Randy rose to his feet.

"Hot chocolate, then," said Mike, voice only slightly wavering. Belatedly, he realized that Orton stood between him and the exit. "Hot chocolate is better with whipped cream and marshmallows. Maybe a drizzle of caramel on top."

Randy took one menacing step forward. Then another. Mike retreated, inch by inch, until his bare back met the cool metal of a locker door.

"Caramel is overrated. What are your feelings towards green tea with a twist of lemon?"

Randy Orton stood close enough for Mike to count his upper eyelashes. Close enough that Randy's hot breath burst across his skin. As far as The Miz was concerned, too motherfucking close. If Mike was not already dead and in hell, he was surely about to meet his maker.

"You want to go out for coffee?" Randy raised his eyebrows. "With me?"

At that moment, standing nose to nose with a man who took great pleasure in inflicting pain on his opponents, Mike's coffee proposal seemed about as sound as a ladder to the moon.

"Obviously the coffee point is a no-go, so let's move on." Fleetingly, Mike considered kneeing Randy in the junk and flying out of the locker room like his ass was on fire. Stupid Kofi and his stupid ideas. "How about breakfast? Lunch? Brunch? Hot dogs in the park?"

Randy grinned. Never a good sign. "Mike, are you asking me out on a date?"

Honesty might have been the best policy in most cases, but Mike failed to see how it could help him now.

Leaning impossibly closer, Randy asked, "What do I get if I say yes?"

Blinking rapidly, Mike reran the question through his brain. The words, on their own, made sense. Once they were assembled in that particular order…

Does not compute.

"What?"

Randy licked his lips. Slowly. Mike's eyes tracked the movement of his tongue. "If I go out with you, what do I get in return? I know you probably think your company should be pleasure enough, but I need more, Mike. What are going to give me?"

How had his life come to this? Where did he stray? When did he falter? More importantly, why the hell was Randy Orton looking at him like he was a free steak dinner?

"Well, what do you want?" The most loaded question ever uttered in the history of mankind.

Before walking into the locker room, Mike had envisioned the proposition scenario playing out in a number of ways. None of them involved Randy reaching around and grabbing his ass. Nor did he imagine Randy thrusting forward and the two of them grinding groin to groin. The noise that came out of Mike's mouth was not the least but decent.

"I want you at my beck and call. Available wherever I want, whenever I want, for whatever I want. No questions. No discussions. No refusals. What do you say, Mike?"

After mulling over the terms and conditions, it seemed only in his best interest to accept.

"Mike?"

After all, what did he have to lose? He'd check his pride at the door if it meant Randy thrusting and grinding some more.

"Mike?"

"_Mike, wake the hell up!"_ The voice did not belong to Randy, but it was familiar.

Mike surged forward, escaping from the apparent dream world and into reality. Binding across his chest stopped his momentum. Flailing, he fell backward. It took a moment to recognize his surroundings.

The interior of a car.

Kofi's rental car.

Memory came rushing back. Mike, too tired to trust himself behind the wheel, had asked Kofi to give him a lift to the arena so they could get the Orton confrontation over and done with. On the way, Mike must have fallen asleep.

"Man, do not tell me you were having one of your freaky sex dreams. Not with me sitting right next to you, less than two feet away."

Mike was more annoyed than embarrassed. "Nothing happened… yet." He'd been woken up before the "freaky" stuff started.

Kofi could only stare at his passenger. "Get out."

"It was different this time," said Mike. "The dream. Usually, Randy is more gentle. Almost sweet. This time, he was more aggressive. I wonder what it means."

"Don't care." Kofi unlocked the doors. "We're here, get out. Let's get this over with before I start having nightmares."

The dream had been different. Was it possible that his decision to act had altered the nature of the dream? That version of Randy had behaved more like the real one. And still Mike had been attracted. The prospect of doing anything Randy desired certainly piqued his interest. While it was nice to dream of champagne laced kisses and making love in front of a roaring fire, a bit of necessary roughness every now and then wouldn't hurt.

They found Randy with surprising ease, as soon as they rounded the first corner. He'd knelt down to tie his shoe; Mike tripped over him. Nearly fell flat on his face. Luckily, his knee broke his fall. The vicious shock of pain told Mike that this was a fall not easily walked away from.

"Shit! Mike, are you okay?" Randy offered him a hand up. Once he saw Mike putting weight on only one leg, he got the answer to his question.

Gritting his teeth, Mike shook his head. "Afraid I didn't stick the landing."

A small smirk on his face, Randy draped one of Mike's arms around his shoulders. "Come on. We'll get you to the med staff. Hopefully, you won't need more than some pain pills and an ice pack." Three steps forward, he looked back at Kofi, who hadn't moved an inch. "You gonna help me or just stand there like some rusted up Tin Man?"

Hanging his head, Kofi muttered, "Will my responsibility for this man ever end?"

A member of the medical staff immediately saw to Mike's injuries. The pain had lessened a bit on the way, but he continued to hobble. If Randy minded supporting much of Mike's weight, he never said a word. Ice pack applied, aspirin administered, Mike sat and waited to be able to walk on his own.

Kofi and Randy stood on either side of him. No one spoke. The definition of an awkward silence.

"So…" started Kofi, drawing the word out for several seconds too long. "Guess that means Orton owes you dinner."

For once, Mike was too shocked to speak.

Randy immediately objected. "Like Hell, I do."

"You're the one that caused the accident."

"Mike should've watched where he was going."

Kofi actually got in his face. He poked a finger into Randy's chest. "And you should've known better than to be crouched around a corner like that. Unless you planned on someone getting hurt."

Jaw clenching, dark eyes turned menacing, Randy growled, "It was an accident."

Kofi prodded Randy again. Probably not the smartest move he'd ever made in his life. "And why should I believe you? Like you're suddenly above sneak attacks. That lying in wait just isn't your thing anymore. A kinder, gentler Orton."

"Believe what you want. I don't care."

In about thirteen seconds Mike was going to have to call that medical professional back into the room. There were far too many objects at hand that could be turned into weapons. "Kofi, chill. It was an accident. I'm fine."

"You might need x-rays."

"I can move it just fine."

"Could be a career-ending injury."

"It's not even throbbing anymore," said Mike. "Just a dull ache."

Randy snapped, "Shut up, the both of you!" He continued to glare at Kofi. "Lunch. One o'clock. Hotel lobby. Don't be late."

Confused by the turn of events, Mike asked, "You mean me? Or are you and Kofi still having a moment?"

"You, Mike." Date made, Randy left the room. Not before purposefully ramming his shoulder into Kofi. "Leave your chaperone."

Once the sound of Orton's footsteps receded, Kofi deflated. He let out the breath he'd apparently been holding and slumped back against the wall. "Damn… For a minute there I thought he was gonna kick my ass." He slapped Mike hard upside the head.

"What the hell, man?!" Now he was going to need another aspirin.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ say I never did anything for you."


	3. Chapter 3

**What Dreams May Come**

"For the record, it was an accident."

"Yes, Randy." Mike hid his smirk behind the restaurant menu.

"I wasn't trying to get you hurt."

"Yes, Randy."

"If I was out to get you, you'd know it."

Mike didn't disagree. Passive-aggressive really wasn't Orton's style. While he might come up behind someone with a metal chair and clean their clock, the assaulted individual at least had some prior warnings about being in Randy's bad books. Mike, as far as he knew, was not on the shit list.

"I would've been happy hitting up a fast food place."

The restaurant Randy chose was far from a high end eatery. The silverware was wrapped in a paper sleeve. Late nineties rock music piped through the speakers. On the table stood a placard advertising dollar beer night every Thursday and half priced appetizers after nine PM.

Randy flipped through his menu. "It's no big deal. I spotted the restaurant on the way into town and planned to have lunch here anyway. Didn't plan on dragging you along, though. Ain't life a kick in the pants?"

In truth, Mike was starting to have a fun time. Mainly at his companion's expense. Not that he said or did anything to tick Randy off. Mike's mere presence seemed to get under his skin. Not the best way to start out a romantic relationship.

If the dreams were truly an indicator of his unspoken desire, Mike took some comfort in the fact that he at least respected Randy. The man bled for the business. Fought tooth and nail for what he wanted and may the good Lord save the individual foolish enough to try to take away his hard earned prize. There was something oddly attractive about a man willing to slam an opponent onto the ringside announcer's table.

Apparently, deep down, Mike found that kind of psychopathy sexy. Different strokes for different folks.

"I'm just honored to be in a presence of someone as cunning and ingenious as you."

Randy rolled his eyes. "Quit your brownnosing. I'm paying."

Mike couldn't help grinning. "And so generous, too."

After ordering, they sat in silence. Randy wasn't much for conversation. He sipped his soda, toyed with the scrap of paper from his straw, and made a halfhearted attempt to show interest in Mike. While not exactly the worst first date of his life, it certainly was not the stuff dreams were made of.

"Kofi thinks you're a dick," Mike said, by way of a discussion starter. While not a completely false statement, it was not entirely the truth. Randy didn't need to know that.

"Everyone thinks I'm a dick."

"I don't."

"Give it time." Randy took another sip of his drink. "It'll happen eventually. Always does."

An interesting self-assessment.

"So you don't care that people think you're a dick?" It occurred to Mike, belatedly, that all this talk of dicks might have an effect on his own.

A most inopportune time for a boner.

Randy shrugged his shoulders. "The day I care about how other people see me is the day I hand Vince McMahon my resignation papers. Besides, you don't seem to give a damn that half the people we work with call you an arrogant pain in the ass. That's only counting those willing to say it to your face."

Mike grinned unashamedly. "Not my problem they can't compete with my innate awesomeness. They should count themselves blessed to be graced by my presence."

Shaking his head, Randy flicked his paper scraps in Mike's face. "You're a dick, Miz."

Mike's grin did not slip as he said, "I guess that means we belong together."

Their food arrived. The conversation flowed more freely between them. They shared a bit of their private lives, though they each had little of one to speak about. Mostly the two of them traded war stories. Feuds of years past. Randy, having more experience under his belt, had the most to tell. For close to an hour, they bragged, boasted, and embellished.

It was during an animated retelling that Randy's steak knife slipped out of his hand.

Mike scooted his chair back. "I'll get it."

He dropped to one knee beside the table to retrieve the utensil. After he handed it to Randy, Mike tried getting back up.

Nothing happened.

"You okay?" Randy actually looked concerned.

Frowning, Mike said, "My knee's locked." The same knee he'd hurt in his earlier fall. "It won't budge."

Now Randy appeared clearly alarmed. He offered Mike his hand in assistance.

From a table away, Mike heard someone shout, "Oh my God, he's proposing!"

Twenty-five heads swiveled in their direction. Even without the hindrance of his bum knee, Mike was rooted to the spot. He didn't dare look around for fear of making eye contact with one of the patrons. With no other recourse, Mike could only stare, wide-eyed, up at Randy.

"Get up." Randy spoke with his jaw clenched shut, lips barely moving. His words only loud enough to reach Mike's ears. "Get up, get up, get up!"

"I can't!" Mike hissed. The vein in his forehead throbbed as they continued to be the center of unwanted attention. "The knee I messed up tripping over your ass isn't working!"

"So now you're blaming me?"

"Well, I certainly didn't trip over thin air."

"Maybe if you'd been watching where you were going…"

Arguing in public might not have been the smartest move, but Mike was not about to back down. "You're making this _my_ fault?"

"Yes!" shouted Randy.

One of the diners announced, "He said yes!"

Applause broke out. Some cheered as Randy stood and hauled Mike to his feet. If their audience waited for a heartfelt embrace, they were to be sorely disappointed.

Their waitress rushed over, positively beaming. "Just wanted to let you know that the manager said your meal is on the house! No charge! Congratulations!"

Too stunned to speak, Mike sat down before both knees buckled and he ended up on the floor again.

Randy, also returned to his seat, stared at his steak knife. Deep in thought. "If it weren't for all these witnesses," he said, "I'd stab you right in the heart."


	4. Chapter 4

**What Dreams May Come**

"What did you do?"

Despite Kofi's outburst about not wanting to have any more to do with the saga of Mike and Randy, he had no qualms about bursting into Mike's locker room just before show time.

Lacing up his boots, Mike said, "You're gonna have to be more specific."

Kofi knocked Mike's foot off the bench. "When I left you this morning, you and Orton had plans to go to lunch. Tell me how, six hours later, I hear from one of the pyro guys that you and Randy are flying to Vermont to get married? Please tell me that this is an extremely early April Fool's joke."

The most Mike hoped for was a few fun hours between the sheets. Maybe an innovative evening up against the wall or handcuffed to the headboard. Matrimony, holy or not, was not on Mike's agenda. Even if he were the marrying type, settling down with Randy Orton was the furthest from his mind.

"Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about." Mike certainly didn't like Randy enough to want to put a ring on it.

Kofi dug into Mike's gym bag and pulled out his phone. After much tapping, he displayed the screen to Mike. A video played. It was shaky, indicating a hand held operator, and the focus wasn't too sharp. However, he easily made out the two subjects of the video. Himself, down on one knee, in front of Randy.

Somehow, after lunch, Mike had put the misunderstanding out of his mind. He and Randy hadn't been too proud to play along in order to score a free lunch. Once leaving the restaurant, neither man said a word about what had transpired, silently promising to take that secret to the grave.

No such luck. Through no fault of their own, they had been outed. Photographic evidence existed for all the world to see.

Kofi stowed the phone away once the video was over. "Tell me there's a logical explanation for this."

"There is."

"Because, no offense, the union of you and Orton is pretty apocalyptic. Like boiling seas and planes falling out of the sky."

"Now that's uncalled for."

"I'd prefer a Cylon invasion over you and Randy getting hitched."

Mike clamped a hand over Kofi's running mouth. "He dropped his knife. My knee got stuck. We are not engaged. Chill the fuck out."

Short, sweet, and to the point.

Kofi shoved Mike away. "You might wanna tell John Cena that. He's taking up a collection for your honeymoon, Sheamus wants to know where you're registered, and Santino is bucking to be somebody's best man."

There came a soft knock on the locker room door. "Everybody decent in there?"

Vickie Guerrero poked her head into the room. She grinned wide the minute she spotted Mike. "Hey there, Miz."

The blood in Mike's veins turned cold as ice. There was a wicked glint in the woman's eyes. She was far too cheerful for his liking. Which meant that whatever had put that smile on her face was sure to ruin Mike's week.

He twiddled his fingers at the woman, wishing with all his soul that she would go away to rain on someone else's parade. "Hey there, Vickie."

Spying no one in the midst of dressing or undressing, Vickie fully entered the room. "Well, I'm sure you already know about your and Randy's engagement going viral."

"We're not engaged." Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a monster of a headache coming on.

Vickie waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I already know that. Not that it'd make a difference if the story were actually true. Frankly, it works out better that it's not."

Left eyelid twitching, Mike steeled his spine. "I know I'm going to hate myself for asking this but what, exactly, is working out better?"

Vickie's chest puffed out with pride. "I came out with the best idea ever. You and Randy are going to play up this whole lover's angle. Be seen everywhere together. We'll leak photos of you guys together. Eating. Traveling. Checking into the hotel together." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Why?" Mike failed to see the payoff. Even if there was one, Randy would sooner catch his dick in his zipper than go along with the scheme. "Why in the world go through that trouble for something so obviously fake?"

The managing supervisor of Raw circled Mike like a shark. "You obviously haven't seen the comments from that little video. The fans are eating this thing up. Hell, half of them think it's a gimmick, but they don't care. They _want_ this, Mike." The clack of her heels against the cement floor was like nails being driven into Mike's skull. "Your charisma and Randy's attitude. A match made in heaven."

Kofi did a slow clap as Vickie crowed over her own plan. "Wow. You'd sell your soul to a crossroads demon if it meant high ratings and increased profits."

Either ignorant of the sarcasm or just not giving a damn, Vickie said, "I'll do anything to make Raw the best brand out there. With the chairman behind me, I can't fail."

Mike was not a completely private person. He engaged in social media like others in the company. This, however, was asking too much. Lying didn't cause him to lose any sleep, but pretending to have a romance while actually wanting to make some headway with Randy proved to be one task too many.

"Randy will never agree to this. Hell, he was barely speaking to me after the whole not-a-proposal thing happened."

Vickie patted Mike's cheek. Her long nails grazed his flesh, like Freddie Kruger's razor blades. "Well then you'll just have to convince him, won't you?" She looked Mike up and down in such a lecherous manner that he quickly covered his bare chest with a nearby shirt. "By any means necessary. Otherwise, it'll be up to you to explain to the boss why you couldn't deliver. And we all know how he hates to be disappointed."

She slunk out of the locker room with what she probably considered to be a sexy swagger of her hips. The self-proclaimed cougar made Mike's skin crawl.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Kofi said, "No way is Randy going for this."

"I know."

"If you're lucky, the worst he'll do is laugh in your face." He gave Mike a pitying look. "And you ain't got that kind of luck."

None of this would have been happening if Mike had been willing to suffer in silence. To hell with his subconscious. What the hell did it know? This was the same part of his brain that once imagined him being chased by a horde of Taylor Swift clones with oversized heads and Tyrannosaurus bodies. Maybe Mike was just fucked in the head and he'd simply have to learn to live with dreams of Randy Orton screwing him nine ways from Sunday every night. The alternative was to receive the ass kicking of a lifetime.

Mike was never one to run away from a fight but, for the sake of his mental stability, he had to find a way to defuse this time bomb before it blew up in his face.

"Hey, Kofi…"

"No!" Holding up his hands, Kofi quickly backed away. "I am tapping out. I refuse to play a further part in your drama. Good night and good luck."

He was two steps from the door when Mike shouted, "I'll owe you!"

Kofi paused. Turned. Considered. "You'll owe me? You, Mike Mizanin, will owe me a favor?"

Sensing the change of heart, Mike pounced. If he was going to sink, he wouldn't drown alone. "The biggest favor in the history of favors. Free to be called in whenever, for whatever reason. And I absolutely guarantee that I won't say no."

Kofi stood with his hand on the door handle. On the other side of that door was the hallway. At either end of that hallway was a location that did not have Mike in it. All he had to do was pull open that door and walk through it.

He dropped his hand. "I want this agreement in writing, with fingerprints, signed by two impartial witnesses."


	5. Chapter 5

**What Dreams May Come**

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to lure Randy into this closet?"

Shoving Kofi down the hall, Mike growled, "Think of something! Be creative!"

The passing minutes felt like hours. Mike paced around the tiny cupboard. Claustrophobia slowly setting in. He reran his arguments through his mind, considering Randy's possible counterarguments and crafting responses to them. Mike was a damn good talker. This would prove to be the biggest pitch of his life.

"Thanks again for understanding, Randy." Kofi's voice carried down the corridor.

The sound of footsteps drew closer.

"Who among us hasn't gotten a bit hot under the collar?" Randy chuckled. "Hell, I've been known to lose my cool more often than I keep it."

From his hiding place, Mike could tell that the pair now stood outside the closet. He pressed himself flat against the wall.

"Thanks," said Kofi. "Be sure to remember that the next time I piss you off. Which should be right about now."

The closet door swung open. Randy Orton tumbled inside. Swiftly, the door slammed shut. The lock clicked home, securing him into the five foot foot by five foot room. A single florescent tube overhead was the only source of light.

"Hey there, Viper." With barely enough space to swing a broom, Mike moved quickly to avoid Randy's lunge at his neck. "Don't kill me."

Eyes promising violence, Randy regrouped. "Give me a reason before I get my fingers around your throat."

"This isn't an attack."

Randy shouted, "Tell that to your henchman!"

There was a sharp bang on the door from the outside. "Hey! I don't hench for anybody!"

Sadly, this was going better than Mike had planned. Meaning it was about two steps above an absolute catastrophe. He made sure to stay on his toes.

"I'm sure you've seen the video by now and before you try to blame that on me, too, it's not my fault."

Randy gave up trying to assault him and simply stood in the center of the room. "Seen it. Don't give a damn about it. Now let me out of here."

"Vickie has got Vince convinced that the video can be used to his advantage. Guessing she's using the _no such thing as bad publicity_ angle" Mike pushed his next words as quickly through his lips as possible. "She wants us to be lovers."

"_What?!_"

"Pretend lovers," Mike promptly corrected. He placed a _wet floor_ sign between them for insurance. "Playing up the romance angle. In her infinite wisdom, the fans are tired of watching Divas bounce from one Superstar to another. What you and I have is fresh and provocative."

Randy pointed out, "And fake." He made no more moves to end Mike's life. Shoulders relaxed, hands no longer clenched into fists, he appeared to be a more communicative mood. "No one is going to buy us as a couple. Hell, the thought of it actually makes me want to laugh."

The words stung. Even though Mike held no illusions of some sort of apple pie life with Randy, the notion of the two of them getting involved in a way that had nothing to do with business hardly sounded insane. "Why is that?"

Randy relaxed in a corner, arms folded across his chest. "Don't get all girly on my, Mike. I'm not saying you're not the fairest of them all." He smirked at the man's obvious pout. "Does it make you feel better to know that I'd pick you over Kofi to take to the prom?"

A small comfort. Mike decided to take the Apex Predator down a peg. "You're not exactly top prize, either."

"I think I'm adorable."

"When was the last time you were World Champion?"

"Maybe it's the light, but I don't see a belt of any kind around your waist."

"You're sadistic."

"You're opinionated."

"You hold grudges."

"You never, ever shut up."

"And don't even get me started on your temper." Mike kicked aside the sign, sending it skittering into the wall. "While it might lead to some amazing angry sex, it makes your personality far from compatible."

Randy pushed himself away from the wall. Slowly, he approached Mike. "Some say angry sex is the best kind. Don't go ruling that out."

The closer he got, the more confused Mike became. He reran the exchange through his head, trying to figure out how they had gotten here. One minute Randy was calling a relationship between them completely unbelievable and the next he was… Well, Mike didn't know what the hell was going on, aside from the fact that angry sex was possibly on the table.

It did not take long for Randy to fully invade his personal space. Was it Mike's imagination or could he actually feel the heat of the other man's body radiating through his shirt and across the space between them? Randy's eyes had a hungry look. As if her were trying to decide whether Mike was edible.

Pulse taking an upswing, Mike stammered, "I, uh… I thought you said, um…" He licked his dry lips. Randy mimicked the motion. "I thought you said the fans wouldn't believe we were together."

"They won't." Randy didn't back up an inch. "Which is why we have to tell them that we're _not_ together. Tell them that not even in a million years would we ever consider being intimate. Really sell it. And then…" He brushed a stray strand of hair off of Mike's forehead.

The light touch of fingertips across his skin made Mike's breath come out in an uncontrollable rush. In the blink of an eye, his mind provided a detailed list of all the ways he'd liked to have those fingers used on him.

Sliding.

Stroking.

Thrusting. Mike was a _big_ fan of thrusting.

Only in a kind and forgiving universe could he hope to be free of this lustful thrall once his desires had been met. Being a slave to Randy Orton's dick was not the way Mike wanted to live his life.

Mentally chastising himself to get his shit together, Mike asked, "And then… what?"

Randy smiled. His hand rested on Mike's shoulder. "Then we start getting caught. Little things at first. An unexplainable touch. A lingering stare. An overheard conversation. Pretty soon, things start to build up." The hand on Mike's shoulder trailed down his chest, stopping over his heart. "Maybe I get ganged up on and you rush out to help me. Then I return the favor. We have each other's backs. Fight side by side. Show actual concern over the other's well-being. By the time Vickie comes up with a Team name for us, we'll have the audience right where she wants them."

The plan seemed sound. At least, that was the message the part of Mike's brain concentrating on Randy's words sent out. That message was crowded out by the contemplation of what Randy's mouth tasted like. The lips were moving, but until they were pressed against Mike's own, not a fuck was given about the content.

In the end, what Mike thought truly did not matter. Randy would sell the scheme to Vickie, who would pass it on to the boss. All Mike had to do was play his part.

What did Mike get out of the deal? Where was his incentive? Granted, a happy Vickie Guerrero was preferable over one shrieking in his face. That was hardly worth the effort of pretending to secretly be in love with Randy Orton.

"What's in it for me?"

Randy took a step back. "I thought you wanted this. Hence the whole tricking me into a closet thing."

"I only wanted to get you on board to get Vickie off my back. Now that you _are_ on board, why should I stay on board? What enticement do I have to play along?"?

"Aside from keeping Vickie from coming after you like miniskirt-wearing Leatherface?" Randy stopped to think. "Well, what do you want? A pay increase? Better accommodations? The One Ring? What?"

While the Ring of Power was tempting, Mike had something else in mind. "You, Randy. Available wherever I want, whenever I want, for whatever I want. No questions. No discussions. No refusals."

Silence hung between them. If Randy noticed the fierce pounding of Mike's heart, he made no mention of it.

"I think," Randy finally said, "you should've started having sex dreams about me sooner." He smirked as Mike's mouth dropped open. "All that frustration has made you feisty. Ordering me around like that, kind of a turn on, I have to admit."

Mike's brain overloaded and immediately shut down out of self-preservation. He tried an emergency reboot.

_Processing…_

_Processing…_

_Eighty-six percent complete…_

"Kofi!" Shoving Randy aside, Mike threw himself at the locked door. "Damn it, I trusted you! How could you betray me?"

The traitor's voice drifted through the thick wood. "You told me to be creative, Mike. I figured Randy would suspect a lie, so I gave him the truth. Once he stopped choking on his water, he agreed to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with you. You can thank me by still owing me that favor and never talking about sex again."

Still slightly awestruck, Mike turned to Randy. "So you know… _everything_?"

Randy nodded. "Everything you told Kofi, but I'm guessing you left some stuff out. Mind sharing the dirty details with me?"

This was reality. This was actually happening. Instead of trying to beat Mike to death with a bleach bottle, Randy asked for full disclosure.

"Just so we're clear…" Step by step, Mike inched closer to the object of his not-so-secret desire. "You're okay with this?"

"Yes."

"With you and me?"

"Yes."

"Being together."

Randy paused. "As long as _begin together_ equates to just sex. I mean, I might buy you an egg sandwich once in a while or let you play Angry Birds on my phone. As far as all that emotional junk goes, let's just keep it for the cameras. In all honesty, I only want you for your body."

Superficiality never sounded so sweet.

"Fine," said Mike. "No strings attached it is." He didn't bother trying to keep his hands off of Randy anymore. A fruitless waste of energy. Now that he was granted unlimited access, he planned to take full advantage. "So… You're room or mine?"

"How about we get out of his closet before deciding?"

Mike gave the signal. Four raps on the door, followed by two more, then one last tap.

On cue, the door opened. Kofi stood on the other side. "For the record, and so you never forget, I hate you both and hope you're miserable together." Turning on his heel, he stalked away.

The two men watched him leave.

"What's his problem?" Randy asked, shaking his head.

"Don't know." Mike slipped his hand down the waistband of Randy's pant. "Poor guy probably needs to get laid."

**END**


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